This Man (This Man 1)

‘Hmmm, lace. ’ he whispers. My waist is griped and I’m lifted out of the pooling dress before being turned to face him. In these heels, my eyes are level with his chin and with a little flick upwards, I’m focused on his full, beautiful lips and wishing he would lay them on mine. I’m swiftly losing my self-control and my conscience has long left the building. I’m wanton, and with this man, easy.

He lifts a hand to my breast and circles my nipple through my bra with his thumb, his gaze focused on his movements. My nipples tingle at the contact, lengthening behind the material of my bra. A small smile plays at the corners of his lips. He knows the affect he’s having on me. He introduces his index finger and tweaks the stiff nub, causing my breasts to throb, becoming heavy, aching mounds. I’m completely rapt by this man studying me so closely, working me up into a shaking, desperate mess. I still can’t believe I’m doing this, but damn, can I stop it?

I watch as he brings his other hand up to palm my other breast. I can no longer keep my hands off of him. My arms lift and my palms settle on his chest. The warmness and firmness hitches my breath. I start to trail my finger down the void between his pecs, smiling to myself when I feel him flinch under my touch and groan low in his throat. Before I can make the most of the access to his body, he turns me back around, and I want to cry inside.

‘I want to see you. ’ I breathe.

Author: Jodi Ellen Malpas

‘Shhhh. ’ He hushes me, unclasping my bra and running his hands under the straps.

He lowers them down my arms, letting it drop to the floor, before his hands find my breasts and knead deliberately. He continues to breathe hot, heavy breaths in my ear.

‘You. and. me. ’ he growls and spins me around, crashing his lips against mine, robbing me of breath.

I’m back to where I want to be. His tongue skims my bottom lip, seeking entry, and I don’t deny him. I accept him into my mouth, our tongues dueling, his mouth hot, his tongue lax but severe. I fling my arms over his shoulders to pull him closer as he presses his groin into my lower stomach. His erection is as hard as steel and bidding for escape from the confines of the denim encasing it. Every part of him feels perfect. It’s everything I imagined.

A low moan escapes his mouth as both of his hands drift up my back to cup my head, his fingers splayed around the back, the heel of his palms resting on my cheek bones. He breaks the kiss and I whimper at the loss. His shoulders are rising and falling with the deep breaths he’s struggling to get into his lungs, and he rests his forehead against mine with his eyes clenched shut. He looks in pain.

‘I’m going to get lost in you. ’ he breathes, his hand traveling back down the curve of my spine to the rear of my thigh. With one gentle tug, he pulls my leg up to rest against his hip, cupping my bum with his other. He searches my eyes desperately. ‘There’s something here,’ he whispers. ‘I’m not imagining it. ’

No, he’s not. I think back to Friday, when I first laid my eyes on him. I felt like I’d been electrocuted, all sorts of strange reactions firing off in my mind and body. That wasn’t normal, and I’m so relieved that I wasn’t the only one to feel it. ‘There’s something. ’ I confirm quietly, watching as his eyes change from uncertainty to complete satisfaction.

I’m stood on one leg, semi draped around his waist, ready to jump the gun and wrap my other leg around him. I need to feel all of him. I need his lips on mine. As if reading my mind, he tilts his head and lowers his mouth to mine, but this time he’s calmer as he gently brushes his lips over mine at the most dreamy pace. He tilts his pelvis into me, and I instantly recognise the start of a huge build-up of pressure in my groin. I’m powerless to control it; I don’t want to control it.

Grinding his hips against me, he continues to take my mouth slowly, the combined sensation having me tinkering on the edge. One touch and I’m likely to explode.

His kiss hardens, the grinding of his hips increasing. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ he mumbles against my lips. ‘Don’t ruin this. ’

Don’t ruin this? Why is he pleading with me, or is he pleading with himself? But then it all becomes clear when I hear someone calling Jesse’s name. I recognise the cold, unfriendly voice as Sarah’s. And just like that, my building pleasure dies of death, retreating faster than it came.

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off! I’m screaming it repeatedly in my head. My languid, worked up body suddenly stiffens, my fingers digging into Jesse’s shoulders. What am I doing? His girlfriend is prowling around, possibly outside, and I’m shacked up in here with her boyfriend’s hands all over me. I’m hideous!

He deepens the kiss, pushing onto my lips to the point of pain, his tongue invading my mouth with urgency. I know he’s trying to keep me in the game. He releases my thigh and brings his hands to my hips to keep me still. He thinks I’m going to run. I am going to run. He releases my lips, my head dropping automatically.

‘The door’s locked. ’ he assures me quietly.

I can’t carry on with this now! I may not like the woman, but I’m not a home wrecker. I’ve done some damage, but I can stop this progressing to the point of no return. He brings one hand up to seize my jaw, tilting my head up and holding it firm as he focuses his green pools straight on me. His frown line is clear as he searches my eyes for something – hope, I think.

‘Please. ’ he mouths.

I shake my head slightly in his grasp, my gaze plummeting to his chest, my eyes squeezing shut. His hand tightens on my hip and he shakes my jaw slightly in a desperate attempt to drag me out of the shell I’ve crawled into.

‘Don’t run. ’ He almost grinds the words out, making it sound more like an order.

‘I can’t do this. ’ I whisper, feeling his hands drop away from me on a frustrated growl.

‘Jesse?’ I hear Sarah’s voice again, but closer this time.

In a complete daze, I scoop my dress up from the floor before running into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and flipping the lock. I lean against the back of the door, virtually naked, trying to control my erratic breathing. I look up to the ceiling in an attempt to prevent the tears from falling. I’m so disappointed with myself.

I think I hear the sound of muffled voices coming from the bedroom, and I try to stabilise my breathing so I can listen to what’s going on. But, there’s nothing. No noise, no talking…nothing. Damn me for being half naked so I can’t escape. Instead, I’ve resorted to fleeing into the bathroom, hiding like the desperate tart that I am. I’m not comfortable with these feelings. I’m truly ashamed of myself. I’ve been cheated on plenty of times, and I’ve annihilated all of those women who’ve intruded on my relationships. Over many a bottle of wine, I’ve condemned them, bad mouthed them and wished them some truly merciless reprisals. Now, I’m one of them. I groan, smacking the heel of my hand on my forehead.

Tart!

When I hear a door shut, I stiffen. Is that him leaving, or is he coming back? Either way, I need to get dressed. I search for my bra within the bunching material of my dress that’s gathered in my hands – no bra. Shaking my dress out frantically, I pray for its appearance but still…nothing. I sigh and step into my dress, pulling it up my body and reaching around to fasten the zip. I’ll have to do without because I’m certainly not attempting to retrieve it from the bedroom.

I walk over to the mirror to inspect myself. It’s as I suspected; I look dreadful. My eyes are swimming with unshed tears, my lips swollen and red, and my cheeks are flushed. I look harassed; I am harassed. I try in vain to straighten myself out, so I can at least exit with a bit of dignity in tack, but there’s no escaping the distraught look I’m displaying. This will be the ultimate walk of shame.